


Payment for a Debt Owed

by KaelaByte



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Captive, Everyine fucking sucks in this fic, Gambling, Im so sorry John, John bets away his life, M/M, Possible BDSM perversion, Sherlock's a bastard, Warnings and rating for possible future scenes, as in not true bdsm, blame my friend, fake bdsm where people suck, it was a dare, so's Jim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:51:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelaByte/pseuds/KaelaByte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry gets in too deep with a local gambling den, John must rush in to save the day. But what happens when he loses the bet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The clock behind John ticked slowly, the sound seeming to echo around the room as the cards in his hand grew damp with the moisture from his palms. His hand was all but useless, yet there was no way he could fold now. He was staring down the barrel of a gun and the reality of what would happen should the trigger be pulled was more than he was fully willing to admit. 

He never would have gotten into this mess if it weren’t for Harry he thought bitterly, discarding two cards before slowly raising the ante a small amount. Anything to postpone the reveal just a little bit longer. 

Across the table a tall, dark haired man lounged in his chair, a cigarette loosely dangling from his lips as he seemed to survey the scene with disdain. “You might as well get this over with. You’ll be his newest employee soon enough, you don’t stand a chance.” he drawled, the low baritone in the man’s voice seeming more ominous with every second that passed. 

Ignoring his opponent John struggled to find a way to turn his hand around, but so far all he had was a high pair, and judging by the look in the other man’s eyes it wouldn’t be nearly enough. 

Scrubbing at the back of his neck John took a quick sip of his beer, eyes casting about the room in desperation, but the dimly lit back room offered no reprise to his anxiety. Rather the simple elegance only served to set him on edge further. It was obvious whomever owned this place had plenty of money, the means by which they came it no mystery if this guy was anything to judge by.

The pot was now far more than he could afford; more than he made in a year in fact. FInally the last call came around and he was forced to try bluffing, maybe he could fake his way out of this. Steeling his nerves he worked to put on an air of someone attempting to hide cockiness behind the very real nervousness that was struggling to overtake him. Tossing the rest of his chips into the middle he shot a look at the brunette. 

John was glad to see the stranger seemed somewhat taken aback by this move. Raising his eyebrow John simply waited to see if his trick would work, his heart squeezing painfully as the other seemed to consider. 

Finally the curly haired man called his bet, tossing his cards down on the table. Three queens lay on the green felt. Johns stomach dropped and he shakily laid out his hand. Two aces. 

A smirk crept across the other man’s face as he watched John, seeming like nothing more than a cat finally eyeing up a mouse trapped into a corner. “And here I thought you might have been a bit of fun. Pity you proved to be just as dull as the others.” he sighed, pushing his chair back and standing. At six feet the other man seemed to tower over John, all the more threatening for the posh way he was dressed. 

Slowly buttoning his bespoke suit the man ambled over to where John sat, leaning against the table as he spoke. “You know what this means, right?” his voice was a low rumble, the sound of thunder that warned of a storm coming soon. 

John licked his lips before answering, mortified that his voice wobbled the tiniest amount as he spoke. “Of course.”

“Why?” the other man asked, the question seeming more sincere than anything else the man had done or said all night. “Why would you risk your life, for hers? It was her mistake and now you shall be the one paying.”

“Because she’s family.” John answered simply.” Shoving himself to his feet John stood in front of the stranger, posture rigid. “Alright.” he said, more to himself, nodding as he tried to force back the fear that we welling up in his chest. 

It took just a second for the other man to once again adopt his air of complete boredom, giving John just one last glance before striding out of the room. Two men quickly entered the room and began tying a blindfold across his eyes. “You really don’t need to do this!” he insisted, struggling to pull back before it was knotted. “I gave my word.” His protests fell on deaf ears however and his hands were bound behind him tightly enough that there was no way he would be able to twist out of the restraints. He was shoved out of the small room and down several hallways before they finally made it out of the club.

He was firmly pushed into a car just outside, all sounds from outside ceased as teh door was shut. From what John could tell it was just as luxurious as the club he had just left, the leather under him as soft as butter when he ran his fingers over it. In the front of the car the low murmur of that other man’s voice was heard, though it was impossible to make out what was being said. Even at such a low volume it was somehow unmistakable. 

They drive for nearly half an hour, neither of his guards speaking to him. He supposed that was just as well, after all, what would he say? 

It felt like a lifetime had passed before the car finally rolled to a stop and he was pushed outside, nearly falling before he could get his feet under him. All around him he could hear the noises of the city, yet not one person seemed to take note of their passing. They stepped into another building, their footsteps clicking down a cement floor, the sound bouncing off a hall that sounded like it went on for ages. 

They walked straight down it, never pausing in their stride and all around them was silence. Not the silence of an empty home, soft and filled with the pressing comfort of solitude; instead this silence seemed muffled, like a cloth placed around a persons mouth and nose, allowing only soft whimpers to escape. This silence promised dark nights surrounded by people you cannot see or hear, yet you knew were there all the same.

Finally he was pulled to a stop and in front of him a door was opened, cool air hitting his face. The smell was vaguely sour, bringing to mind things dark and dank. Best left unseen in the daylight. 

He was shoved into the room, only one of the men following him in. John supposed whomever he was meeting would be more than a match for him if he was willing to allow guards to remain outside the room while meeting his newest “employee” as the curly haired man had so eloquently said.

His blindfold was finally pulled off and he found himself face to face with a short, black haired man.

“Oh Sherl, you really outdid yourself this time!” the man squealed. His voice lifted and dropped constantly, the irish lilt only emphasizing the inconsistencies in his speech. As unsettling as the gambler was, John was certain that this was the man he truly had to fear. He stood just a bit taller than John, black hair slicked back from his face almost severely. The man’s eyes seemed to focus far too intently on John as he moved around, sizing the shorter man up. 

“I thought you’d want to meet him right away.” the brunette from earlier answered, his voice a stark contrast to the other’s. Both men circled around to where John could see them, the new man constantly glancing back and forth between John and his employee.

Suddenly his face turned stony as he fixed his gaze on John. “Oh you thought so?” he asked, all trace of his accent suddenly gone as he seemed to seethe. “Did you mean to offer him? Or gain permission?” he spat, never taking his eyes off John. “After all Sherlock, we both know the type you tend to bring in for yourself.”

“Obviously not.” the man named Sherlock replied, seeming bored with the interactions already. “If I intended to have him, I would.”

This seemed to calm the other man because his face suddenly split into a huge grin, though his eyes still seemed to glint just as coldly. Before the man could speak John quickly cleared his throat.

“Ah, so I would rather like to know what exactly is going to happen here.” he said firmly, attempting to straighten his shoulders despite the cloth binding his wrists together. “Now I understand I owe you quite a lot, but I haven't been told how exactly I am to pay it.” John said, struggling to keep from flinching as the shorter man stride up to him slowly.

“Aren’t you the talkative one?” he asked, seeming to speak more to himself than John. “You don’t seem as stupid as most that we get in here. So how did you wind up in my web little soldier boy?” The man reached up to brush a finder down John’s cheek, face blank as though he were able to somehow read the memories flashing through Johns head at the question.

Thrown off by the fact that the man seemed to know more than John had expected he hesitated a moment. Before he could answer Sherlock spoke up. “His sister gambled away her freedom. When John here found out he came rushing to her rescue.” Every word dripped with disdain. It was obvious Sherlock placed very little stock in the loyalty that led John to step in for his sister.

John’s gaze had slipped back to Sherlock as he spoke and so he was startled when the other man suddenly reached up and grasped his hair, forcing John to look at him. “So you thought you could play hero?” he teased, voice mocking. “Rush in and save the damsel in distress then? hmm? Thought you could beat the villains and ride off into the sunset?” His voice turned hard and sharp, the words hissing from between his teeth now as he twisted John’s hair in his grasp. “It seems this time it’s the bad guys who get the happily ever after, isn’t it Johnny boy?”

Behind him Sherlock was watching the interactions carefully, though he showed no signs of interfering. It was almost as if they were merely a half interesting show on the telly. Worth watching, but only just. 

Glaring up at the man John refused to cry out despite the pain in his scalp as the other man twisted his fist tighter and tighter. Then suddenly he was gone. The man stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off his suit lapels, eyes hooded as he looked all around the room.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this meeting short.” he said suddenly, twisting around to look at Sherlock. “Take Johnny here to his room Sherl. I’ll see to him later.” The words spoke of promises that John fervently wished he was just imagining.

“Of course Jim.” Sherlock replied easily, stepping around John and grabbing at his arms. 

Wrenching away John faced Jim again. “You still haven't answered me.” he grit out, never relaxing his stance. If he was going to get any leverage here it wouldn’t be by showing submission. This man was like a rabid dog; any sign of weakness could be enough to set him off. 

Sherlock grabbed his arm again, more firmly this time as if trying to warn him, but John was tired of just following these men without a choice. He would get his answer one way or another before he took a single step out of this room.

Time seemed to freeze as they both stood there and John felt like a mouse, staring into the eyes of a cobra as he worked to keep from lowering his eyes. 

Finally, Jim blinked and looked away, a small smile starting to spread across his face. A soft giggled worked its way from the other man’s mouth, growing in volume and pitch until John wanted to cover his ears. Then it stopped as suddenly as it began, though the grin was still plastered in Jim’s face, brittle and seeming to crack slightly around the edges as though his face were stretched just a bit too tight. “You will repay me. However. I. Wish.” Jim laughed, voice modulating with manic energy though the man himself scarcely moved a muscle. 

For several seconds they both stood like that until Sherlock sighed. “If you’re done?” he asked briskly, already propelling John out into the hallway. Behind them the door shut and John heard footsteps retreating into the distance, the click of Jim’s shoes sounding too much like a clock, ticking away what time he had left.

As they walked John tried to memorize the path they were taking, although at this point he was already so lost it would hardly do him any good if he did remember the way back here. Eventually he was shoved into a small room; even more bare bones than the small bedsit he had been renting. Against one wall was a small cot, and directly opposite a toilet. Everything about the room screamed prisoner. 

“Welcome home.” Sherlock said dryly as he shut the door behind him; footsteps fading quickly as John looked around the small room. Sighing he went to sit on the bed, his mind racing as he struggled to come up with a way out of his predicament.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back! Updates are going to be slow since I'm just now getting back into writing. but here, have a mini chapter.

For several days John was left on his own in the small room, the growling of his stomach the only indicator that time had passed at all. Occasionally food was brought in by what seemed to be a body guard. The man’s hair was buzzed short, his bearing screamed military though what branch was uncertain. John was certain he would be evenly matched at best if he attempted to take on the stranger however; clearly his captors were taking no chances with him.

After some time had passed John found himself being shaken awake, the grip on his shoulder tight and callous. Blinking a few times to clear his vision John found himself looking up at Sherlock. The man’s hair was in a disarray, strands escaping at all different angles as though he had been pulling at the locks in frustration. 

“Get up.” Sherlock said brusquely. “Moriarty wants to see you.”

It took a few moments for John to connect the new name with the man he had met his first night here.

“Now!” Sherlock barked, yanking John to his feet when he failed to move as quickly as Sherlock would have liked. 

John was shoved out of the small cell and into the hallway. The fluorescent lighting overhead washed everything out, casting stark shadows over everything. The sharp angles of Sherlock's face that at first had only seemed alien, now looked predatory as his face became mask-like, his cheeks hollow and eyes hooded as he tugged John along beside him.

After enough twists and turns that john was once again completely lost, Sherlock finally thrust him into a room, much larger than the one he had been occupying, but no more welcoming. The door clicked shut behind him before he could even gather his thoughts enough to ask what was happening. 

The buzzing of the lights were starting to give him a headache as he surveyed the room. Everything was very sparse, plain metal fixtures and furniture, many of them with stains of what John hoped was simply rust. Chains and leather straps seemed to adorn every possible surface, and while he recognized a few, many more were mysteries to him. After glancing behind him a few times John finally wandered over to one of the chairs, crouching down with one eye on the door to inspect the bindings going up and down the arms and legs. 

It didn’t take long to confirm his fears. Though the room was well cleaned, in several nooks and crannies of the chair there were small spots of dried blood, though how fresh they were John couldn’t have guessed. 

The door behind John slammed open, making him jump and twist around,ready to defend himself against whatever was coming. 

In front of him stood a tall man, graying hair buzzed short in military standards. Muscles rippled up and down the man’s arms, the light grey t-shirt he wore showing them off to full effect. Hesitantly John stood up straight, eyes flitting from place to place as he tried to read what his opponent would do. 

Rather than attacking the man simple strode forward, his step slow and confident.

“Now, now, Captain, I wouldn’t recommend trying anything.” he said, his voice showing the slightest hint of a Brixton drawl as he spoke, eyes hard as flint.

“Who are you?” John demanded, having to work a little bit to keep his voice from cracking. Although this man seemed much more manageable than the one named Jim, John didn’t doubt that he would have little chance against him in a fight. 

“Because my boss said I need to keep you alive, but he never said that you had to stay unharmed. Now, I’d prefer not to touch you whatever issue Moriarty has with you it has nothing to do with me. But, I won’t hesitate to restrain you.”

John didn’t doubt for a second that the man was more than capable of doing just that. Before the man could take the final few steps towards him, John tried to dash around him, making for the open door just yards away. He heard a slight chuckle then the squeak of boots as the man turned to grasp at him, fingers brushing against the hem of John’s shirt. Pushing himself harder John scrambled for the door and was nearly there when he felt fingers close around the bicep of his left arm. 

Panicking John swung his fist up and over, aiming for the man’s jaw while working on dislodging his arm from the soldiers grip. He landed only one blow before he found his fists clasped in hands large enough to dwarf his own, the grip crushing down until John was forced to his knees. 

“I told you not to run.” the man said, shaking his head as he looked down at John, the pity on his face barely concealing the amusement underneath.


End file.
